


The Black Cat

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Carnival [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, slight sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a calm Halloween eve, Batman finds the Joker, and suddenly is thrown into a chaotic chase with the maniac. But, for once, when the Joker said he wasn't up to no good, perhaps he wasn't lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Cat

**Author's Note:**

> After posting my 2009 Batman fic, I decided I wanted to give writing in the fandom another shot. So, new series, starting fresh! I swear the hot smut will come, I just really wanted something simple to set the mood.

Gotham was alight, nearly every street glowed with pumpkins internally aflame, with porch lights, flashlights. Kids in costumes littered the streets, without a care, some with parents in tow, some without. From above, atop an old apartment building, they seemed small, ant-like. Batman watched leisurely, not intending to stay here long. The streets had been quiet recently- so far Arkham held tight with its captives. The psychopaths slept now, or screamed, he wasn’t sure. They weren’t on his streets, that as all he knew, all he cared about.

 

Taking an inhuman jump, he scaled the streets, heading off to another, still packed with children. He descended down a fire escape and watched from the shadows, up close for a moment. Then he was off again, making his way towards one of the city’s parks.

 

He’d left his car hidden on one of the side streets near by, and was considering spending the majority of the night back in his mansion, taking advantage of a night’s sleep. It’d feel good to lay down well before dawn.

 

Older kids flocked around the park, teenagers and such. In the distance he saw a few, huddled together, and suspicious, he stalked towards them in the shadows. As he got closer he heard an odd crying sound, and realized as he was a few yards away it was a cat. They were cackling and holding the creature by its tail, while one of them was lighting a pail of garbage on fire.

 

While Bruce did not condone cruelty of animals, it was relieving that this was what he had to deal with, and not his usual findings in the night. Ready to burst out and give them a good scare, he froze at the last second, watching as someone _else_ emerged from the shadows.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” one of the kids yelled, the one with the lighter. Before he spoke again a loud _crack_ vibrated the air, and he fell. Then the boy holding the cat followed, crumbling to the cold ground. Turning to run, the third and final boy made it about a yard before he fell too.

 

Batman was running then, towards the slender frame, bursting from the shadow, expecting some thug, some low life-

 

What he saw were wild green eyes and a painted face. Grinning, the Joker stared at him, holding a dainty little hand gun he had pulled from his jacket.

 

“Batsy,” he said, cocking his head so his wild green curls swept around his face, “it’s _oh-so_ good to see you.”

 

“Joker.” It was a guttural growl, as if it came from an animal. Batman was taken aback by those wild eyes and painted lips, but he dare not show it. When had the man broken out? Surely if it had just happened they’d hear the sirens, and the city would go on lock-down for a night.

 

“Shocked to see me?” He leaned closer, a playfulness about him that was always unnerving. “I got so _lonely_ locked up in that cell. It was _soooo_ dreadful!”

 

Batman’s fist struck out then, connecting with his jaw and snapping the Joker’s head back. He wasn’t going to play games- not tonight. There were children everywhere, too many little lives for the Joker to easily take. He’d get him back to Arkham before anyone even realized the biggest ghoul had come out for Halloween.

 

The Joker was laughing, cackling as he stumbled back, snapped his head down, and stared at Batman.

 

“Oh _Batsy_ , you’re _feisty_ tonight.” He jerked his head to the side, cracked his neck, and lunged, having dropped his tiny pistol. He tackled Batman, used what light weight the criminal had to him and his speed to knock Batman off his footing and send them tumbling to the ground. Batman landed on his back, the Joker sprawled between his legs, pelvis pressed tightly against Batman. Instead of striking him, the clown only squirmed, having a nearly delirious grin of satisfaction on his face.

 

“I like you on your back,” he said, and Batman reached up, clawing at him, wanting to roll them over. The Joker grabbed his wrists and shoved his arms over his head, pinning him to the ground. “Now now now, careful, wouldn’t want to get me too... _ex-cit-ed_.”

 

He punctuated the word with a grind of his hips, and despite his Kevlar armor, Batman knew the Joker was getting himself hot and bothered. It should have shocked him, but truly it had been building up. The damn clown got worse and worse every time he managed to worm his way out of Arkham. It was unnerving for so many reasons.

 

Mustering his strength, Batman lurched his body up, jerking the Joker briefly and rolling them over. He pinned the man beneath him, punching him in the face another time for good measure. His lip had split open, and Bruce couldn’t tell what was paint and what was blood.

 

“Tell me what you’re up to!” A guttural demand, deep and resonating, it served to only make the Joker shiver.

 

“Mmmm, that’s it, use _that_ voice Batsy baaaab-y.” He pushed his hips up again, and unthinking, Batman pushed his own down, grinding into the clown, forcing him to the ground. A moan slipped past the Joker’s lips, and inwardly Batman cursed. Wrong move.

 

“Why did you break out? What’s your plan?” He wanted to get the man standing, to beat him senseless and get some words out of him, words not laced with sexual overtones. But he was afraid if he moved even a bit, the Joker would over turn them again. He didn’t want to be under the maniac again.

 

“Break out? _Break out?_ Oh, no no no no no.” He laughed. “I didn’t break out, Batsy dar-ling. I was _let_ out.”

 

_Let out? What bullshit is he playing now?_

 

“What are you babbling about?”

 

“You asked me a question,” he said, an air of fake innocence to his voice. “I was just, ah, answering you _daaar-liiing_.” He leaned his face up, got dangerously close to Batman, his face just a breath away. Bruce lost it then, he rolled off the man and jumped to his feet, like lightning, just a moment quicker than the Joker.

 

He grabbed him by his collar, lifted him up. The Joker’s wrinkled, stale purple coat almost ripped- Bruce could hear a few of the seams giving. He must have truly only just gotten out- usually by the time he showed himself to Batman, he was clad in something showy and new, even if it gave off the air of being thrown in a damp basement for days.

 

“No games,” Batman demanded, “Who let you out?”

 

“Ah, but I _have_ to play,” the Joker said, chuckling. “And that’s the key part! I can’t tell you! But I can say, he’s going to light this city up something _prett-y_ tonight!” He giggled, a sick and almost alluring sound. “We’ll have one big Jack-O-Lantern, oh, yes we will!”

 

He giggled again, and Bruce was losing patience. A bomb, it must be. The Joker’s favorite. He liked big, loud, bright explosions. He liked piles of dead bodies.

 

“ _Where_?” He growled, and the laughter subsided, the Joker’s face suddenly, for a moment, serious.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he nearly murmured, “But, I can _show_ you.” He grinned again, his eyes dancing, and Batman felt as if there was no choice. Not with lives at stake. He tossed the man down, pulled handcuffs from his belt, and crouched down to cuff him, giving him a good punch to the gut to knock his breath out. The Joker reeled, laughed, grinned as Batman then pulled him up to his feet. He dragged him from the park, through the shadows towards his Lamborghini. He’d thought to take the Batmobile, but it had been so calm, and really, that was harder to hide.

 

He threw open the passenger door and shoved the Joker in. The man fell on his side, and as he straightened, a little black shadow leaped into the car, right onto his lap.

 

The cat from earlier. The damn cat.

 

“Shoo!” Batman said, and the Joker put his cuffed arms around it.

 

“ _Nooo_! Do you know what they do to black cats on Halloween? Huh, Batsy? I’m sure you saw.” He pet the cat, actually pet it, and Batman gave up, slamming the door shut and hurrying into the driver’s seat.He revved the car up and sped into the night.

 

“Now where am I going?” he growled, but the Joker wasn’t paying attention to him. The cat had settled onto his lap, and he was looking around the car.

 

“Oh _Batsy_ , where did you find this? It’s pos-i-tively fab-u-lous!” He giggled again, and this time Batman’s voice was a booming roar.

 

“Where!”

 

“Oh, turn left now,” the Joker said casually as they began to pass a street. Bruce swerved the car, barely made the turn, jolting the cat awake. It climbed from the Joker’s lap to the back seat to settle in again, and the Joker leaned over, running his fingers along Batman’s arm. He jerked away, wanting to push the man back to his seat, but he was afraid to take a single hand off the wheel- not with these directions.

 

“Right,” the Joker suddenly said, and once again, the turn was barely made. Bruce had to be doing about seventy, and he was just happy the kids were not out on these streets.

 

“Two more blocks,” the Joker said, “the hospital. Not the main one, in the... _back_ ,” he gave a playful grin, ran his fingers along Bruce’s arm again. “The medical supplies, testing. The bomb’s there- OH!”

 

Batman screeched the car to a halt, jolting the Joker forward. He hit his head on the dash board, came back with a glazed look. Bruce took the keys but left him in the car, sprinting like the wind through the shadows. He broke a window and climbed in, heard an alarm sound. So much for surprise.

 

He halted a few steps in though, not sure where to look. No thugs, no hostages, nothing. A locked building with an alarm. The police would be there soon. Had the Joker tricked him?

 

That was when he heard it, footsteps. Racing towards the stairwell, he climbed up, heard them on the stairs further up and kept going. When he reached the top floor he threw the door open, came face to face with the barrel of a shot gun.

 

“Far enough!” the man said, a huge, hulking thing, with a shaved head and hard eyes. Just a thug, no one Bruce knew. He didn’t move though, not for a moment, let the man think he had him. Then in a heart beat he smacked the barrel up and lunged, punching the man in the gut once, twice, then the face, kicking him to the ground. The shot gun clattered to the floor, loud, and the man crumbled in a heap.

 

Just in time for two more to come out. One had another shotgun, the other was holding a switchblade in one hand, brass knuckles on the other. Batman focused on the shotgun first, throwing himself to the floor in just enough time to avoid the blast. He kicked the man’s legs out from beneath him, grabbed the shotgun as it fell, and jabbed the barrel into his face. Bleeding, he fell, clutching his face, as Bruce turned to the other-

 

And got the brace knuckles to his face. He stumbled, dropped the gun, felt them on his ribs, then the knife, in his side. He fell to one knee, punched blindly, hit the man’s stomach. He lost his wind but punched again, brass tearing Bruce’s lip, nearly crunching bone.

 

The knife clattered to the floor, and suddenly in his hand he had a syringe. It stabbed down into a tear along Batman’s suit, in his leg, and the liquid running into his veins was hot like acid. He cried out, then fell to his side, feeling hot and fuzzy, barely able to move. The man was sneering down at him, yelling something to the first guy who had cornered Batman, the big guy who was getting up and walking over, holding his stomach.

 

But only for a moment. In a heartbeat his head nearly burst, splatter flying everywhere. As he fell, the Joker stood behind him, still cuffed, awkwardly holding the shotgun. He was grinning, but when he saw Batman on the floor the grin wiped from his face.

 

“No one said you could touch my _toy_ ,” he said, chucking the gun aside. The guy with the brass knuckles leaped at him, hit him in the gut and made him double over. He just laughed, grabbed the man, and shoved his head against the wall. He held him, did it again, and again, and again, until a sick cracking sound filled the room, until the wall was smeared with blood and brain matter.

 

The Joker turned, stared at the remaining thug, grinned wickedly, and strode over to him. A punch to the face, the stomach, and as the man doubled over, he snapped his neck. The body melted, and the Joker was left to straighten his collar, his jacket, and turn to Batman.

 

“Oh _Batsy_ ,” he said, crouching down near him. Bruce could see his wrists were bleeding, chaffed from the cuffs. “What did they put in you? Obviously nothing good.” He was pouting, and if Bruce’s mind would uncloud, he may have realized the not so subtle hint. “Come come come, we’ll need to get out of here, before we blow _sky hiiiiigh_.”

 

He tried to lift Bruce, but was unable to get a good grip with his hands cuffed. Frowning, he punched Batman in the face, in the stomach and chest, sat on his waist and wailed on him almost pitifully.

 

“Get up you big fooool,” he nearly sang, “I can’t carry you all chained up like this.” He held his wrists up, waved them around. Bruce groaned, felt his legs twitch. “Ah-HA! That’s it Batsy baby, twitch something else.”

 

The Joker ground against him, tipped his head back in a moment of playful ecstasy, and Bruce twitched again- but not how he expected.

 

When the Joker looked back at him, those green, dancing eyes were growing dark, cloudy, lusty, but his maniacal grin was still in tact. He moved off Batman, kicked the still mostly full syringe away, and pulled on him again.

 

“C’mon Batsy babe, he barely got the good stuff in you.” Bruce trembled a bit, but managed to sit up. A few breaths, and he clung to the Joker as the man stood, pulling him to his feet. Woozy, he stumbled, leaned against the clown, and the Joker held onto him as best as the handcuffs allowed. He guided him to the stairs, and slowly, they took them down, the whole while the Joker babbling playful little nothings and pet names at him, loving the fact that he couldn’t fight back for once.

 

One the main floor the Joker broke the lock on the tiny back door, and out they went, to the sounds of sirens in the distance.

 

They stumbled through the shadows, in a large loop to get back to the car. By the time they were down that tiny road, the red and blue lights of the cops were illuminating the hospital.

 

The Joker opened the passenger door, and thrust Batman in. He slammed it shut, and vaguely Bruce heard the sound of metal on metal, a scratching sound, then the slam of the trunk. Then the Joker was in the driver’s seat, fidgeting.

 

“Keys dar-liiing,” he said in a song sing voice. When Batman didn’t move, he reached over, rummaged around his belt and finally pulled them free. He started the car and they were off, kicking into such a high speed Bruce vaguely wondered if the car was a blur outside.

 

His head was still fuzzy, he could barely tell what was going on. His limbs ached badly, worse than if he had taken a beating. He watched the Joker drive idly, the man seemed so carefree, until he looked over at Bruce.

 

Then he smile playfully, winked, and Batman wondered what he had up his sleeves.

 

He passed out then, left the Joker in silence. The blast didn’t even wake Bruce, the loud boom behind them as parts of the hospital went up. It had been a smaller one, that hospital, but it’s sudden disappearance would still but a damper on the community.

 

The Joker just wished he could take the blame for it. He hadn’t had a good explosion in far too long, and the lights were just _so pretty_. Prettier than the flickering, headache inducing flashes he’d seen for the past few months.

 

He shook his had, forced a grin to his face. No, his Batsy was next to him, there was no need to think of such places. Besides, Batman had given him a gift tonight, even if the man had no idea.

 

When the car stopped, Batman rolled his head on his neck. His door opened and the Joker was grinning at him, resting a knee on his seat as he dug at his belt. He found the key for the handcuffs and released his wrists, rubbing the raw, broken skin.

 

“Hate to cut our date short, but, ah, you’re not in the best of shapes, baby.” He ran his now free hands up Batman’s chest, licked his busted lips. “But don’t worry, we’ll have _many_ more nights.”

 

Grinning, he leaned in close, so close that Batman could feel his hot breath ghosting over his lips. Bruce watched with dark eyes, felt the Joker’s fingers trailing over his cheek.

 

“Another night, Batsy dar-ling.” He closed the gap then, greased, torn lips against Bruce’s, something that should have felt like a snake, should have felt like vile and caused him to heave.

 

He was warm though, despite the aches, and the kiss sent something warm down his neck, soothes the ache building in his shoulders.

 

And then he was alone, left to fade into black in the car.

 

When he next opened his eyes, it was in his own bed, under a thick blanket, a bandages on his wounds. The ache had dulled and he could move freely. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples, when the door to his bedroom opened and Alfred walked in, holding a glass of water and a few pills.

 

“Sorry to just barge in, Master Wayne,” he said, “but I heard you shifting about, and if you’re awake, you should take these.”

 

Bruce took the pills and washed them down, grimacing.

 

“How did I get here?” he asked, confused.

 

“Your car was parked on the property, sir. Almost in the garage. I brought you in myself, though you were half conscious, I didn’t believe you’d remember. Managed to get you out of your suit though, so we can get it repaired.” He sighed. “You were in rough shape, whatever was in your system was not something I’d like to come face to face with.”

 

“My car was here...?” Bruce trailed off, confused, barely remembering, until he heard a little bell tingling, and suddenly a black cat jumped onto his bed. Alarmed, Alfred turned to it, tried to shoo it away, but it padded over to Bruce and rubbed its face against his arm.

 

“My apologies,” Alfred said, “She was in the backseat of your car, and I felt horrible just turning her out. I’ll send her away of course.”

 

“No,” Bruce said, stroking her silky black fur. “No, she can stay.” Bits came back to him, brought on by her golden eyes. Except he saw green, dancing, wild and menacing and oddly alluring.

 

_The Joker._

 

He leaned back against the pillows as Alfred went about straightening the room, presumably things they had knocked about when the butler had managed to get Bruce into the room the night before. He reached up and touched his lips, didn’t notice Alfred leave.

 

Swollen, tangy with copper. They had had a taste, paint, and something finer, something under lying it all. The clown had his own taste that Bruce couldn’t remember. He was far too calm as he stroked his lower lip, remembering the slight, soft movement. He would have expected the Joker to ravage and rape his mouth, not to turn to a school girl with a kiss.

 

He was jolted from his thoughts when Alfred entered again, something small in his hand. Paper, perhaps.

 

“Master Wayne, you should see this.”

 

Bruce reached out, took it, realized it was a playing card. He knew then, before reading it. He flipped it over, saw sprawled in the same red grease paint that had been on the mad man’s lips.

 

_‘Call me Batsy xoxo’_

 

Bruce stared at it for a moment, as the cat made her way to his lap and settled in.

 

The Joker knew. He’d figured it out, somehow, during the night. He knew, and Bruce was more terrified of how it didn’t feel concern. Part of him, stemming from his mouth, wanted to Joker to come pay him a visit.

 

Alfred left him and he stroked the sleeping cat, was reminded that the Joker had saved the poor thing from the kids. He’d acted faster than Bruce had- even if he didn’t play by Bruce’s rules. And he’d saved his life. He’d realize just how much later on when he heard of the explosion, but even then, from those thugs, from whatever had been pumped into his system.

 

Maybe he could be just as harmless as a black cat on Halloween. Maybe.


End file.
